


Double Envelopment

by AeroplanesR0ck



Series: Safe in Your Hands [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild casefic, relationship angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroplanesR0ck/pseuds/AeroplanesR0ck
Summary: Things get rough, but then they get a whole lot better. Doesn't really make sense without reading In Safe Hands





	1. Instigation

**Author's Note:**

> I rewrote the beginning of this about three times, idk how good it is anymore. Sorry this is so late, but a) work, b) the beginning of school, and c) writer's block. Also, heed the rape/noncon tag. It's not graphically described (or really described at all), but nevertheless I have a feeling some bits will be distressing for some. Tag does not refer to anything between or involving John and Sherlock, though. Rating may (will probably) go up.
> 
> As for a timeline for this one- it's after all the other fics in this series. How long after? I'm not entirely sure, but between two and five years after the ending of In Safe Hands.

The ride back from the case was a tense one, John almost vibrating in his seat as he restrained himself from starting a scene with the cabbie listening in. As soon as they got in the door, though, the anger broke through his thin shields. 

“What the fuck were you thinking? You’re the Consulting Bloody Detective, surely you noticed she was in no state to deal with your-”

They rarely had these arguments anymore. Nowadays, Sherlock usually had the sensitivity to notice when a softer approach was needed, and on the occasions when he misstepped, John tended to be more understanding about it. This time, though, neither of them were really in a good frame of mind. Sherlock had been on edge all week, distracted and moody. It took John ages to get Sherlock down, and even when he did, it didn’t seem to pull him out of his funk for long. This in turn made John feel impotent and frustrated, and so the whole atmosphere in the flat had been sour even before this disaster of a case. 

Sherlock had been scattered, unable to give his whole focus to the case as he usually did, his own mood reflected back and amplified by John beside him, radiating discontent. It was a quick case, an easy solve, but when you’re Sherlock Holmes, it doesn’t take long to screw everything up. 

_The girl was a skinny wisp of a thing, looking even smaller than she was as she hunched in on herself, wringing her hands nervously as she peered around at the people bustling around her. Two stood out- they lacked the uniforms and ties of the others, and they were heading right towards her. Both looked rather angry, and her nervousness grew._

_The taller one came right up to her, looming uncomfortably close, his icy blue eyes scanning her. His gaze felt like a physical touch, running over her, and she shuddered slightly._

_“Tell me everything you remember. From the beginning.” He said abruptly._

_She bit her lip. She really didn’t want to rehash it all yet again, but if it helped to catch whoever it was...she took a deep breath. “I was at a party. My friend invited me, I don’t normally do these kinds of things but he convinced me- it’s his birthday. I don’t remember much of a party- just that there were lots of people I didn’t know. I don’t think I drank much.”_

_The man narrowed his eyes at her. “This isn’t what you were wearing. What were you wearing?”_

_Underneath her nervousness, a lick of anger flickered and flared in her. She stood a little straighter. “I hardly think it matters what-”_

_“Oh, don’t be an idiot.” He cut her off with an overdramatic roll of his eyes. “Of course it does. Clothing provides vital evidence, you shouldn’t have removed it before I arrived.” He wheeled around, looking around at the officers. “Her clothes, where are the girl’s clothes?” He called out._

_She shuddered again. It wasn’t something she’d ever taken issue with before, but suddenly to be called ‘the girl’, to be reduced to nothing more than her gender, felt humiliating and demeaning._

_The man returned moments later, brandishing a plastic evidence bag of the clothes she’d been wearing. “These aren’t yours, you don’t have anything like this. Who gave it to you?”_

_“My friend. The one who invited me.” She told him._

_His eyebrows shot up. “He bought you an outfit? Just so you could go to his birthday party?”_

_She shook her head quickly. “He got it from his sister.”_

_The man began pulling the clothes out of the bag, holding them up against her. “And this sister, she’s exactly the same size as you are?”_

_“No, she’s taller, but-”_

_“And yet these clothes are brand new, and fit you perfectly.” He interrupted yet again._

_She sensed where he was going with this, shaking her head quickly. “Jason isn’t like that, it wasn’t him, he’d never-”_

_“He did.” The man said flatly. “Or not him, rather. He pimped you out to his friends because he needed the money to fuel his drug habit.”_

_She was still shaking her head hard. “He doesn’t do drugs. He likes to party, but it’s just a bit of drinking and fun. Nothing like that.”_

_The man frowned deeply at her. “You need further evidence? Fine. Here. I spoke to your ‘friend’ before I came here- he showed clear signs of withdrawal. He-”_

_At this point, the man’s companion jumped into action, his hand clamping tight around the taller man’s wrist. “That’s enough, Sherlock. We’re going.”_

_The man -Sherlock- fell silent immediately, glancing nervously at the other man as he was tugged away. “But John,” he began quietly, “I have to-”_

_“Later.” John said, voice low and dangerous. Sherlock ducked his head, and allowed himself to be led away._


	2. An Ocean Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is insensitive when he's angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added this note to the first chapter, because I forgot to mention this when I posted, but for those who've already read the first chaper, I'll put it again here. The timeline for this fic is after all the other fics in this series, between two and five years after the ending of In Safe Hands. I know, that's a wide range. I'm a fuzzy writer (naughty and lazy, I know. Sorry).

John hung up his coat and turned around, still ranting angrily. He halted when he didn’t see Sherlock where he’d expected him. He glanced down. Sherlock was on his knees, looking up at him with a contrite expression as his fingers swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a pale chest, John’s name emblazoned starkly across his left breast. Normally the sight filled John with warmth and affection. In this moment, though, it only fuelled his anger. He grasped Sherlock’s open collar, hauling him to his feet. 

 

“Fuck no, you bastard. You don’t get to do this. Stand up and talk to me like an adult.” He growled.

 

Sherlock scrambled shakily to his feet, looking like he was about to fold in on himself as he eyed John warily. “Sugarcoating things wouldn’t have helped her. She needed to face the facts.” 

 

“She’d just been through a traumatic experience, and you were an insensitive prick. She didn’t need that, and you know it. Or you would’ve, if you’d stopped for even a second to consider her feelings. But you didn’t, did you? You just barrelled in without a care, with no thought for what she’d just gone through. Or, hell, maybe you just didn’t realise because if it’d been _you_ you’d probably have enjoyed it, in some fucked up way, but you know, not everyone-”

 

Sherlock visibly paled, stepping back, hurt suffusing his face. John, noticing, trailed off, mentally rewinding, anger leaking out of him as he realised what he’d just said. 

 

“I didn’t mean that.” He said quickly.

 

Sherlock shook his head. “Yes you did.” He said, looking miserable. “Perhaps you didn’t mean to _say_ it, but you did mean it.”

 

John shook his head. “No. That’s not-” He scrubbed at the side of his head with the heel of his hand, frustrated with himself. “I can’t explain it now, I’m still too worked up. I need to get my thoughts in order first.”

 

He reached back, grabbing his coat off its hook. Panicked, Sherlock darted forwards, stopping just before he hit John’s personal space. “Don’t go.” He pleaded.

 

John’s features softened. “I’m not leaving. I’m just going for a bit of a walk, get my head sorted. I’ll be back within the hour and then we can talk properly, okay?”

 

It was not okay. Just the thought of John walking out that door sent Sherlock’s heart racing with anxiety. Still, what choice did he have? “Okay.” He said quietly.

 

John stepped forward a little. “Can I kiss you?” He asked softly.

 

Sherlock nodded stiffly. John reached up, cupping Sherlock’s cheek, drawing him down for a long, lingering kiss. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed, and he exhaled softly, his lips otherwise unresponsive against John’s. John pulled away, glancing up at Sherlock and sighed, pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose. 

 

“I love you.” He murmured. “I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

 

He stepped back, then turned, exiting quickly. Sherlock stumbled forwards, disoriented by the sudden loss of John’s warmth.

 

“John.” He called out, but John was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this is upsettingly short considering the length of the first chapter. The unevenness disturbs me too, but it was just such a good stopping point.


	3. Hail Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried while writing this because I'm pathetic like that, but hopefully that means you'll like it.

John returned, as he had promised, less than an hour later. Sherlock, lost in his thoughts, startled to his feet when the door opened beside him. He -Sherlock- looked a bit of a mess. His hair was wild, and his still-unbuttoned shirt flapped open. John glanced at the spot on the floor next to the door where Sherlock had been sitting.

 

“Were you just sitting there the whole time?”

 

Sherlock just shrugged, and John sighed softly, crossing over to the sofa and sitting down. He patted the seat beside him, and Sherlock sat down, looking tense and uncomfortable.

 

“Could I- kneel?” He asked John. John shook his head, and a tiny, panicking part of Sherlock’s brain started panicking even harder. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, rationally, understand John’s intent. John felt guilty about what he’d said, he intended to apologise, he felt uncomfortable allowing Sherlock to put himself below him, physically and psychologically, when he was trying to make amends. Even so, there was a visceral sense of rejection. John refused his submission, refused him- the two were interchangeable to Sherlock in a way that they weren’t to John. As easily as John dominated Sherlock inside of a scene, outside of it he shrugged it off just as effortlessly, went back to being Just John, a separation that felt impossible to Sherlock, whose submission was wrapped tight around his psyche even before he met John. Now, years after, they’d been together this way for so long that being Just Sherlock, but without that sense of being with, belonging to John, seemed as hard as being Just Sherlock, but without his nervous system. 

 

John took Sherlock’s hands in his, massaging them absentmindedly. Sherlock’s fingers were always cold- they were colder than John’s now, though John had just been outdoors in late autumn without his gloves on. John cleared his throat a few times, then in true John Watson style, jumped right in with little prevaricating. 

 

“This isn’t really- I’m not trying to make excuses for what I said, because there are none. I shouldn’t have. But I guess I should explain why that came out. We’ve had a pretty good run of things, we’ve been this -us- for a while now, but-”

 

“Nearly four years.” Sherlock muttered quietly, voice faltering. His heart was in his throat, and beating so hard he actually felt a little dizzy. He thought he had an idea of where this was going, and he didn’t want to hear it, but he didn’t know how to stop it. He wavered between wrenching his hand away and clutching tight to John, stop him somehow from slipping away. 

 

“Yes.” John murmured, thinking of the anniversary he’d had planned- one he desperately hoped he would be able to carry out. The reminder of what was on the line steadied him, and he took a deep breath. “But the last week or so you’ve been...distant. And I was frustrated because I haven’t been able to get through to you. And I know, yeah, I should have talked to you about it before it came to this but I was just- scared.”

 

Sherlock’s head shot up, brows furrowed in confusion. “Scared? Of what?” 

 

John’s voice was steady, even as tears gathered in his eyes. “That this isn’t enough for you anymore. Because I know I never really get as...intense as you like, and I won’t be able to provide you what you need now that the novelty has worn off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...hmm. I'm not really an angst writer, believe it or not. Why do I write so much angst, then? Because I love it. Because it's honestly important for a plot most of the time. But sweet and fluffy things flow much easier from my fingertips than crying and upsets. (*whispers* this is because of my own tendency to keep a tight lock on my negative emotions so as not to bother people with them) Anyway, what I'm trying to say with this is that I'm too uncomfortable with this chapter emotionally to actually assess how good it is. So please let me know.


	4. Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock assuages John's fears.

Sherlock stopped resisting the impulse, and slid to his knees beside John. John didn’t protest. He’d said his piece now, and he watched Sherlock, waiting to see what he would do. Sherlock reached up to cradle John’s face in his hands, his long fingers enveloping both sides of John’s head. 

 

“No, John.” He said earnestly. “That’s not it at all. You’re right, I have been...distracted. But it isn’t because you’re not enough, not at all. How could you think that? John, you’re- everything. You’re all I need.” He hesitated, glancing away, his hands falling to John’s lap. “Though, what you said- you’re not entirely wrong. I hadn’t thought about it that way until you said it but now that I have… I’ll admit that it’s entirely possible that were I to find myself in such a situation, there might be a part of me that could- derive some sort of pleasure from the experience.” He looked back up at John, earnest, pleading. “But it’s not that I want that, I don’t want to be- I’m yours. Completely.” He touched his fingers to his own chest, fingers unerringly tracing the inked letters there though his eyes never strayed from John’s face. “I don’t want anyone else, or any experience that isn’t given to me by you. There isn’t anyone who can do what you do for me. Because I love you. And- and you love me.”

 

Sherlock’s voice turned hesitant, uncertain, and it made John ache. “I do.” He said firmly, leaning down to give Sherlock a salty kiss. He tugged Sherlock into his lap, threading one hand through Sherlock’s hair and wrapping the other around him. “I love you. And I’m sorry I doubted you.”

 

Sherlock hummed. “Well, like I said, you were somewhat justified.”

 

John shook his head. “Not really. It’s normal, you know? What turns you on, turns you on. Like you said- if a beautiful woman got naked in front of me there are probably parts of me that would be interested-”

 

Sherlock made a soft, displeased sound, pressing closer to John. John laughed softly, kissing him. “But it wouldn’t be even a shadow of what I feel for you. Nothing comes close.” He assured Sherlock, looking up at him with a soft smile. “One more thing, though. The thing that’s been ‘distracting’ you. What is it?”

 

Sherlock looked suddenly nervous, almost guilty. “It’s nothing.”

 

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. “Evidently not. Come on, love. Tell me.” He cajoled. 

 

Sherlock huffed, biting his lip. “Alright, fine. But just as a disclaimer, I’m only telling you because you asked. Not that it was meant to be a secret, per se, but I hadn’t intended to bother you with it, and this should in no way be construed as a request-”

 

“Just spit it out.” John said impatiently. 

 

"I want to get married."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if the resolution felt insufficient? I feel that neither John nor Sherlock are the type to belabour the point, so that's why. But I hope it was satisfying enough.


	5. I Do, I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't just let a good thing be a good thing. John loves him anyway.

John blinked in shock. Of all the things he might have imagined, this was not one of them. There were so many confusing things, he wasn’t sure where to start. Except, of course, for the most obvious and important part. 

 

“Yes.” He said simply.

 

Sherlock barely let John get the word out before launching into yet another speech. “There’s no need to respond. Like I said, it’s an explanation, not a request, I understand that-” He halted. “Wait, _yes_?” 

 

John nodded, a small laugh bubbling out of him. “Yes, of course, yes.”

 

Sherlock was still frowning in confusion. His fingers knotted in John’s collar, as though to keep him there while he worked it out. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

John snorted, kissing Sherlock’s scrunched up nose. “ _You_ don’t make any sense. Can’t you just be happy?” His voice was fond, though. He didn’t resent Sherlock’s need to work everything out, even when it was standing in the way of his post-engagement snog.

 

“I am happy.” Sherlock was still frowning. “But you’re- You don’t want to get married.”

 

“Pretty sure I do, actually.” John reached up, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and gently guiding Sherlock’s face towards him. “What’s this about, love?”

 

“Your wife.” Sherlock said abruptly. “Or ex-wife, rather. Or is she still your wife, if the divorce didn’t go through before she died?”

 

John was suddenly tense at the mention of Mary. “Never mind that. Go on. What about her?”

 

Sherlock’s voice slipped into what John privately dubbed ‘Deduction Mode’, something John frequently found inappropriately arousing. “You’d known her eight months and had been dating her for six when you proposed. _I’ve_ known you eight _years_ , and we’ve been together half that time, almost, and you never once broached the subject, or even made it seem like it was something you considered. Clearly it’s not something you want.”

 

John hummed thoughtfully. “Well. I’ll admit, marriage in itself holds no appeal for me in itself. When I married- When I got married for the first time, it was a terrible mistake. They’re not really memories I want to revisit. And now it’s pretty hard for me to view marriage as being this great ideal of a relationship. What we have, it’s so much better, even if we never went to have a party in a church. Even without that, being with you is the best and most meaningful relationship of my life, so it never felt necessary. Didn’t think it’s something you wanted, either.”

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. “So you don’t want to get married.” He summarised.

 

“No, I do.” John said quickly. “It’s- Now that you say it, it’s something that I want. Because you want it. And it’ll be nice to have a great big party dedicated to how great we are together. And- and tax breaks, and all that. You’re already my next of kin. I’m sorry, I’m not being very romantic about this. But yes, let’s get married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love it when it's Sherlock who proposes. It's counter to the expectations of a lot of fans, because John's the 'romantic one', but you know, he's such a giant softie.


	6. Drive On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sends his apologies.

Sherlock finally relaxes, and John get his post-engagement snog. Indeed, he gets a lot more than that. It’s hours later before their exhaustion finally gets the better of them, and John collapses back against the mattress, Sherlock a sweaty, limp weight atop his chest. John runs a hand through Sherlock’s curls, trying to rouse him a little before he’s claimed by the usual post-coital nap. 

 

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook about the girl, you know.” He murmurs. 

 

Sherlock blinks passively up at him. He hums quietly. “I’ll write an apology letter.”

 

“Good idea.” John agrees. He makes a mental note to himself to read that letter over before allowing Sherlock to send it.

*****

A few days later, a young woman is determinedly cooking breakfast. Determinedly, because she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed at all, but today was the first time in days that she’d hauled herself out of the comfort and safety of her own sheets before noon, and as much as she wanted to crawl right back in, she refused to be cowed. So she made scrambled eggs, because you can stab viciously at the eggs while you’re scrambling them, which is very nearly satisfying, though not quite. As she is dumping the (overly scrambled) eggs onto a plate, there is a knock on the door. She scrambles for her clothes. Once upon a time, she’d have just answered the door in her dressing gown. Once upon a time, discovering that it was a man on the other side of the door wouldn’t have made her feel better about keeping him waiting.

 

He was more of a boy than a man, really, just a boy with an ugly uniform and a forced smile. Under the smile, he looked like didn’t want to be awake any more than she did. 

 

“Delivery for you, ma’am.” He recited. 

 

She almost shut the door in his face. The delivery was flowers. She didn’t want flowers. Flowers meant interest, and interest was something very much not wanted at the moment. Still, it wasn’t the fault of the delivery boy. Reluctantly, she took it, intending to throw it away. Still, something stopped her. Perhaps it was the unusual choice of flowers. She didn’t know what they were, just that they weren’t roses. There were several round, delicate clusters of pinkish-purple flowers, the empty space between the bulbs filled with dark green leaves interspersed with pure white star-shaped flowers- geraniums, and stephanotis, though she was blissfully unaware of this fact. Geraniums stood for comfort, and stephanotis for good luck. She knew nothing of this, only that they were unusual enough to slow her down long enough to see the words written in a controlled scrawl, the loose yet tiny handwriting covering both sides of the small card that came with the bouquet. It read:

 

_Ms Albuquerque,_

_When we met last Saturday, under rather unfortunate circumstances, I am given to understand that in the process of affirming the identity of the men whose crime I was there to solve, I was less than careful with my words, and happened to cause you some distress. This was not my intention. I expect you should be able to derive some comfort from the knowledge that your ‘friend’ and all his accomplices will be facing the consequences due to them, to the full extent of the law. My partner, John, says this is never comfort enough. I am inclined to believe him, but it is equally true that I have no skill whatsoever in providing comfort (he would disagree, but he is the only one who would). Nevertheless, I feel compelled to at least attempt to provide my aid, in whatever small way I can. XXXX XXXX - this is the number of an acquaintance of mine, with whom you may find some benefit in conversing with. She is by no means a professional- I expect you have received several recommendations in that vein already. But she has some things in common with you, both in personality and in experiences. She knows to expect your text, should you choose to do so. One more thing- you will receive a wedding invitation some time in the coming months. John’s idea- he cites you as the reason we got engaged. I suspect it would have happened even without you, but I suppose it is true that our encounter with you was the catalyst for the incident which later led to our engagement. At any rate, John will do as he pleases. You are, of course, under no obligation to attend, but you are also very welcome to do so if you like._

_Sherlock Holmes_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end for this one! And we're back to porn in the next installment of this series. Thanks to everyone still reading and commenting!


End file.
